


Hail Storm

by vipjuly



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asphyxiation, Barebacking, Dark Will Graham, Fledgling Killer Will, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, M/M, Murder Husbands, Rimming, Spanking, Sugar Daddy AU... kinda, Unsafe Sex, unsanitary sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Hannibal refuses to stoop to a dating app, but the fact of the matter is this: he needs someone. What exact role they need to fulfill is up for grabs--Hannibal just knows he needs company. Conversation. Intelligence. Someone that won't bore him to death or, in some cases, bore him to murder. A sugar baby seems like the most obvious choice, since Hannibal knows the easiest way for someone to stand him is to pay them for it.Will Graham replies to Hannibal's ad in an eye-catching manner and the instant he meets the boy, Hannibal is... taken.There's a certainsomethingabout Will. Hannibal can almost put his finger on it.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 48
Kudos: 559





	Hail Storm

Elbow deep in an accountant’s chest cavity, Hannibal looked over at the metal table that held his tools with a wistful gaze. He hadn’t had the foresight to position it closer to him, but then, he also hadn’t known that he would get so lost in his work. The bone saw lay just out of reach. He hadn’t had the inspiration to sever the spine from the inside until he’d reached it after harvesting the lungs and heart, but here he was. Elbow deep, and wanting a tool two feet away. 

How nice it would be, he thought, to have an assistant. A partner. Someone to meet his needs and indulge in his whims and perhaps even be one step ahead of him when it came to certain artistic endeavors. Like wanting a bone saw halfway through an extraction. Hannibal knew that was a dangerous thought--a partner--yet he had it anyway, entertaining the thought for just a few moments before sighing and coming back to himself. 

He worked best alone, he felt. He was perfectly capable of hunting down his prey and bringing them back to his lair to do with as he pleased. He didn’t need help. He didn’t need a partner. 

In any case, it’s not as though he could put out an ad and interview hopefuls. 

No, he would continue on as-is. It was a little lonely, perhaps, having no one to share this unadulterated, pure act with--the adrenaline rush and the clarity that came after the storm. 

He alone was an inferno, a firestorm, blasting through the atmosphere. He was consuming and destructive, a force of nature, a direct defiance of God. 

Somewhere out there was a thunder cloud, heavy with rain and flood water and softball-sized hail. 

Not created to douse him, not created to snuff him out. 

But instead to complement him, to elevate him to new heights.

There was always room for improvement in any craft, even if one was considered a master. 

Eyes drifting toward his bone saw, he sighed with resignation. He pulled his arms wetly out of the body, sticky and still warm, suction trying to keep him lodged within and popping and slurping when he pulled himself free. 

He grabbed the bone saw himself. 

He would spread hellfire and infernos on his own.

Perhaps he could find another sort of company.

\--

At fifty years old, Hannibal refused to stoop to a dating app. A website dedicated to his… sexual proclivities would be much more suitable and a better template for him to get a handle on. His profile on sugarbabies.com was simple--white background, a black, easy to read font, and a picture of him in a red gingham suit cropped so his head wasn’t visible. His mission statement was to the point: he has time, money, and the ability to give his attention. He was looking for someone to share these with, as well as someone who needed their needs met and would like the extra attention. 

He thought this was a safe bet. He hoped it was. People matched on his website weren’t necessarily looking for deep connections. 

If he was lucky, however...

Technology was beyond him, so he did the bare minimum to set up his profile and then left it. He didn't forget about it, but he refused to check it daily. It was in the back of his mind... but he focused on his patients, and his sanity. It wasn’t that he was desperate for companionship, but between seeing patients all day and going to and fro from event to event, he found himself craving something more… substantial. Not just any company, of course; someone perhaps not necessarily on his own intellectual level, but someone capable of good conversation. Someone to share his elaborate meals with outside of dinner parties. Someone to… 

When he finally decided to check his email, his inbox was flooded. There were two dozen messages, all of which were varying "fuck me daddy’s” and explicit pictures of young men and women in precarious positions and beautiful lingerie… or nothing at all. None of them satisfied him. They were cheap. Inelegant. Hasty. He deleted every last one, turned off his computer, and went back to work. This process was repeated three times over the next few weeks, his frustration mounting. Just when he was about done with it altogether, an email caught his eye.

 **Subject** : Plaid & Flannel for Gingham & Paisley

_"Really I just wanna know if you're real or a bot. Not sure if anyone dresses like you in real life...."_

No picture was attached to the message. Hannibal raised a brow. "Plaid and flannel..." he murmured. He understood this person’s caution--some of the messages Hannibal had received were dubious links to triple-x sites that he definitely knew better than to open. He dithered on whether or not to reply, and then decided to give in to the unique message.

_"I assure you, I am a real person, and I do dress like this much of every day. And you, Plaid & Flannel? Is that your choice of attire?"_

He was surprised there was a reply ten minutes later. He'd deleted and blocked the other messages so that Plaid & Flannel was the only one he received. Then, he took it a step further and moved to his personal email. Flexing his fingers, he now read the message in detail.

_"Plaid and flannel isn't really a choice, it just happens. It does, however, hide the grease stains. So, since you ARE a real person, what kind of job do you have that lets you dress like a vampire and want to spend money on strangers on the internet?"_

Hannibal smirked. This boy--and now he was sure this person was male, for both the glimpse into a mechanical hobby as well as the diction of their words--was... unique, an outlier of all the other messages he had. He didn't even have a profile photo. Hannibal was infinitely curious about him. The joke about him being a vampire was vastly amusing; many people had a smattering of thoughts whenever they met him, he knew, but no one was brave enough to say any of them out loud.

_"I can neither confirm nor deny my affinity for the night, but I can reveal my daytime profession as a psychiatrist. My desire is not to spend money on a stranger, but to hopefully create a connection with someone that can be mutually fulfilling. I must ask though… if I dress the part of a vampire, then plaid and flannel are your uniform?"_

Send.

What an interesting prospect.

When Hannibal returned from making himself lunch, he was delighted to see a notification in his email. Clicking on it, he carefully held his tea in one hand as he sat at his desk and leaned back in his chair, reading.

 _"Uniform is a very loose term. There's not much of a distinction between my clothes and the clothes I wear to repair engines. Boat engines. That's my job. I don't think I've ever had to wear a tie in my life, but you make it look good."_ Hannibal hummed, sipping his tea. _"What would be mutual about this connection? Most... proprietors on this site have very specific expectations. I'm actually surprised you haven't sent me a list."_

Hannibal blinked. A list? He knew vaguely of what a sugar daddy was (he was here, after all), but he was also very positive that it varied from person to person. Has this boy ever had a sugar daddy? Was he experienced? What would that mean for Hannibal, here as a first timer? What would happen if this boy learned--

Hannibal made his reply short, keeping his thoughts in line. _"Would you like a list, or would you rather get to know each other first?"_

The reply was immediate.

_"The second option. I know this is your personal email, now. And I don't want to seem desperate but you're not a creep so far, so I guess I can tell you why I'm on this site."_

Short. Open. Forthcoming. The bush was not beat. Hannibal eyed his phone laying next to the laptop.

He replied with his personal number and, _"Text or call."_

He busied himself. One didn't have to be a psychiatrist to know human nerves. This boy would contact him or he wouldn't. He wouldn't pressure him or hurry him. So, naturally, he cleaned the entire study; dusted, vacuumed, beat the rug, rearranged some art.

He thought about the man messaging him and tried to connect it to what he knew sugar-relationships to be. Stereotypically it was a relationship between an older person and a younger person, usually the older person with the money and the younger person seeking it. If he were to go for the seedy underbelly, based not only on his pop culture knowledge but the array of messages he’d initially gotten, it was… illicit. Inelegant. An exchange of sex for money disguised as something palatable for society, rather than high-end prostitution. 

But he knew real life to be different; that “normal” people were in this type of relationship without the power imbalance. He’d browsed a few other “daddy” profiles, curious to see what others were looking for. Many said they were looking for company in exchange for financial support for schooling, or rent, a steady paycheck for appearances at events or cozy nights in when one was lonely. On the surface those looked inviting and normal, but Hannibal, doctor and psychopath extraordinaire, knew the extent of humanity and just how easily one could bend the rules and snap the fluffy border between Heaven and Hell.

He thought about what he wanted. 

Companionship. Company. Intelligent conversation...

Perhaps to rip the border apart between Heaven and Hell.

Was he naive in thinking he could find this online? He was a doctor, for crying out loud. To resort to such a base thing as a personal ad… he shuddered to think what the reaction would be in his professional circle. If he thought about it too hard his own reaction was a shudder to himself. 

In any case, money wasn’t an issue. He was a good negotiator. 

Plaid & Flannel was going to tell him what he needed or wanted, and it was up to Hannibal to decide if he could work with it, or if he would throw in the proverbial towel and delete his profile and forget about it altogether. He was still unsure if it was worth the risk.

His phone rang.

An actual honest to God ring, not a text.

Checking the caller I.D., Hannibal soothed himself before answering. "This is Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

"You answer your phone like that on the weekends?"

Oh, sweet mercy. The voice. The lilt. The sarcasm. Melodious and sweet, boyish and confident with only a tiny quake of nerves. This boy.... Hannibal took a breath to collect himself.

Incredible.

"It is polite to return that specific greeting with your own name."

"Will Graham," the boy replied.

Will.

Beautiful.

"Hannibal..." he sounded the name out. "Where are you from?"

"Baltimore," Hannibal said dryly.

He could hear the eye roll Will gave. "You know what I meant."

"You have rather burning questions for someone who said they would be giving me some information, first." Amusement colored Hannibal's voice. When was the last time he felt... playful?

Amazing.

This boy. Amazing, already.

“Ah, well--” He could envision this Will ruffling his hair or rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s kind of embarrassing. I don’t- this isn’t really my… style, I guess. I don’t do dating apps or sites or whatever but…” he cleared his throat. “Have you done this before?”

“Have you?” Hannibal returned smoothly. 

“Once. It, uh. Didn’t end well.” A pause. “For him.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed immediately. He was ravenous for the details of the unfortunate soul who managed to get on this boy’s wrong side. “Tell me what you’re looking for, Will.” 

There was a slight pause, like Will was hesitating in continuing the conversation despite his willingness to initiate it. Then, he spoke, and it took great effort for Hannibal to pay attention to the words and not just the sound of Will’s sweet voice. “I’m, um. I’m not poor, by any means. I’m actually… doing ok. Getting by, really. I have a small business doing motor repairs for boats, which as you can imagine isn’t exactly a steady paycheck. I really like it. I don’t really have the… social skills to work a job that involves lots of people. The words “customer service” don’t appear on my resume.” 

Hannibal smiled. Interesting. 

“But- living paycheck to paycheck is stressful even though I don’t want it to be, and it shouldn’t be for the lifestyle I have.”

Hannibal decided to cut in, “Oftentimes we do not have a choice in what causes our stress. What we can control is how we deal with it.” 

Will paused, then let out the most delightful sounding soft chuckle. “Psychiatrist, right. Maybe I should just ask my insurance if you can be my shrink.” 

“Unfortunately it would be a HIPAA violation for your shrink to sign a weekly check for you,” Hannibal said, dry amusement in his voice. 

“Weekly?” Will sounded surprised. 

“Continue telling me about your situation, Will.” 

“Right--” Will laughed. Gods, Hannibal was desperate to meet this man in person, hear his laugh and feel his energy and see his smile. He dared not concoct an image in his mind of what he looked like. “Anyway. I live a pretty simple life. I’ve got a house in the middle of nowhere that I inherited from my parents; I have half a dozen dogs, and I… don’t socialize much outside of being hired for repairs or seeing my, like, two friends.” 

“As a psychiatrist I must inform you that I’m not too keen on supporting a run of the mill serial killer.” Hannibal’s cheeks hurt. Was it supposed to hurt when one smiled a lot? 

“Damn. Guess I’ll go to the next guy on my list and see if _he_ has a basement I can work in.” A pause, and then Will’s voice dropped lowl, playful. “And who said I was… run of the mill?”

A tremble went down Hannibal’s spine, unbidden, as he thought about his own sub-basement. “What I’m gathering, Will, is that you would like some financial support, and perhaps the chance to be more social.” 

“...Yeah,” Will breathed. “I figured… there’s probably a guy on this weird site that is actually a social person, who goes to events where you actually have to comb your hair. Someone who needs a plus-one but didn’t want to sort through all the bullshit to get one. Someone who might… be like me.” 

“You’re in luck,” Hannibal said pleasantly. 

“Wait--” Will’s voice suddenly sounded hesitant. “You don’t know what I look like. I--your… body looks great, but I also don’t know what _you_ look like.” 

“Are looks a deal breaker?” Hannibal asked curiously. 

“Not… necessarily. Like I said, I’m not very experienced in this.”

“In sugar-relationships, or men?” 

Silence. 

“I do not endeavor to make you anything but comfortable, Will. Would you like to meet for coffee? A neutral, public space.” 

“Yeah,” Will agreed easily. “Yes. Um--whenever works for you.” 

It was Sunday. Hannibal rounded his desk to open his appointment book, looking over his neatly scrawled schedules. He had an unscheduled gap on Mondays that he usually spent on extracurricular activities, but spending that time with Will would be no drawback. 

“Tomorrow at one?” Hannibal asked. “Where, “in the middle of the woods”, do you live?”

“Wolf Trap. It’s about a forty-five minute drive anywhere. I don’t mind driving to Baltimore.” 

“Then we shall meet at The Roast House.”

“Alright.” There was a pause. “I know this was just kind of an introductory thing, but. I um, enjoyed… talking with you, Hannibal.” 

Again, the smile returned to his mouth. “And I you, Will. Tomorrow at The Roast House. You will know me when you see me.”

“I bet I will.”

The call disconnected. Hannibal stared at his phone for a few moments, then tried to pick apart the sensation deep in his gut.

Giddiness, he thought.

Textbook giddiness.

\--

Hannibal chose to wear something understated for the coffee date. A pressed royal blue suit with a paisley print waistcoat and white undershirt, a matching paisley tie knotted in a windsor at his throat. He slicked back his hair neatly, made sure his wingtip shoes were polished to perfection, and arrived at the cafe at 12:50. He ordered for both of them and told the barista to bring them to his table when his guest arrived, paying for the drinks and leaving a large bill in the tip jar as he grabbed a newspaper. 

Once he was sat at a table by the window, pleased by the cushy reupholstered wing chairs flanking it, he allowed himself to relax. He enjoyed this cafe mostly for their restored antique furniture, though their coffee was also next level, almost a decent competition for the coffee he roasted at home. He opened the newspaper, perusing the articles, making sure to lean back casually in his chair, crossing his legs and keeping the newspaper low so his features could be seen over the top. 

At 12:59 the door chimed. He glanced up. 

Will Graham was… a vision. 

Curly hair bounced on his head, dark against his skin. His body, trim but powerful, was clad in promised denim and thick flannel. Even from this distance Hannibal could see the beauty of his blue eyes, oceanic and just as deep. When those eyes landed on Hannibal, he knew he’d been recognized. How incredibly lucky, Hannibal thought, for them to feel immediate attraction--for Hannibal saw Will’s pupils dilate, saw his pulse quicken in the beautiful curve of his throat. He couldn’t be older than thirty.

And those eyes...

“Hannibal,” Will greeted. His voice was better in person. His entire demeanor was a mix of confidence and trepidation; someone who knew who he was, and yet someone who knew that he perhaps would not be accepted for it. 

“Will,” Hannibal replied, allowing the smile on his face to reach his eyes. He folded the newspaper and set it aside, gesturing for the other man to sit across from him. Will’s curls bounced, his dimples punctuating the stubble on his cheeks. The fact that Will hadn’t even attempted to dress up for their meeting had Hannibal enraptured. 

The barista brought their coffees in antique china, setting them down in front of the men and wishing them well. Will picked his up immediately, sniffed it, then raised a brow to Hannibal. 

“What is this?” 

“Dark roast coffee with notes of oak and cherry, spiced with cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves.” 

Will carefully took a sip, chasing the flavor from his lips with his tongue. His eyes darkened in enjoyment, before they danced at Hannibal, not _quite_ meeting his gaze. “How did you know I would like this combination?” 

“You come across as a man who has reserved, but refined--even if you are unaware of it-- taste,” Hannibal said. His own coffee was doctored just the same. “Leading the life you do I can make the assumption that you drink your coffee black, and fast. Function, not pleasure. You might like to drink it all day, so you would choose a dark roast with the least amount of caffeine for a steady buzz without the crash. No cream, so you can appreciate the flavor. Perhaps a dash of cinnamon if you thought of it.” 

A brow arched. Will settled back in his chair, elbows on the arms of it, hands holding the cup to rest against his lips as he spoke. “And you ordered the same, so you could experience it like how I do.” 

Brilliant.

“The power of observation is weak if one does not know how to _feel_ what they observe.”

Humming, Will took another sip of his coffee, hiding his smile. Oh, was he beautiful. “So. Have you deduced if I’m a serial killer?” 

“No,” Hannibal said brightly. He picked up his cup for a slow drink, eyes twinkling. “But that’s the fun of it, hm? Sizing each other up, trying to figure out if we are who we say we are, or if there is something hidden in plain sight.” 

“You’re the psychiatrist,” Will demurred, though playfully. “I’m just a backwoods bayou boy.” 

“Bayou,” Hannibal repeated, his gaze turning a bit critical as he roved it over Will. “You’ve no accent.” 

“Been up here a while,” the other man said. “Easy to cover it up when I don’t meet anyone else with an accent.” His smile was crooked, eyes glimmering. “Don’t think I’d be able to adopt yours, though.” 

“No matter how long I have lived outside of my home country, it is something I cannot shake.” 

“Eastern… Europe?” Will guessed, though Hannibal knew he wasn’t just throwing that guess out there. Will didn’t seem the type to say things haphazardly, even if his delivery was easy. 

“Lithuania,” Hannibal offered. 

“What brings you to the states?” 

“Opportunity.” Hannibal uncrossed his legs only to recross them the other way. “I lived in Italy for quite some time, but tapped all of my resources rather quickly.” 

“Were you a psychiatrist there?” 

“A curator. Art is a passion of mine, and operating a gallery had been a dream since I was a boy.” 

“If you loved it so much, why did you leave?” 

“There is such a thing as loving something too much,” Hannibal replied smoothly, but honestly. Will arched a brow. “Being overrun with passion is… beautiful, but all-consuming. There is a fine line between beauty and destruction.” 

“So you left before you were destroyed.” 

Hannibal’s eyes flashed in pleasure. “I did.” 

“I left Louisiana after my parents died,” Will offered without prompting, inviting the tit-for-tat. “My dad owned the house in Wolf Trap. It was his old hunting lodge, basically. He didn’t use it too much.” 

“And do you hunt?” Hannibal asked. 

“I know how,” Will replied. "I prefer to fish." His smile sharpened ever so slightly, easily disguised if Hannibl weren’t looking for it. “I make a great lure.”

Pleased, Hannibal took a sip of his coffee. “Let us steer the conversation to the purpose of our meeting.” 

“Right,” Will finally shifted in his chair. He set his coffee cup down on the table, scooting forward in his seat so he could then rest his forearms on the table. Hannibal’s eyes dipped toward his hands, taking in the calluses on his palms and fingertips, the taper of his wrists. “I’ve told you my situation.” 

“And now I will tell you what I am looking for,” Hannibal finished. He kept his voice steady, though lowered so no other patrons could hear the nature of their conversation. “I have a wide social circle. I have been published in many literary journals and have a permanent seat at every socialite gathering not only in Baltimore, but in every large city on the east coast. I have a private practice with regular business hours, leaving my evenings and weekends free. I host dinner parties very frequently--I have a passion for cooking, and cooking for one becomes… boring. What I am looking for, Will, is company. Nothing illicit if you do not want it. I can tell you have a bright mind. I now know I wish to nurture a part of you that seems to have been ignored by foolish people. In return I would like your company for meals, and perhaps if and when you are comfortable, you on my arm as a date for these gatherings I mentioned.” 

Will chewed his lip, mulling over the information. 

“How much do you have left in your bank account, monthly, after you pay your bills?” When Will went to answer, Hannibal held up a hand. “Only your bills. Do not include groceries, or any money you would spend on non-essential items.” 

The other man quieted, then said, “Less than a hundred.”

Hannibal frowned.

“I’m not living in squalor,” Will frowned, his brow furrowing and his lips pouting. “I get by. I fish a lot and keep non perishables on hand. I make sure my dogs are fed. I’m not skin and bones.” 

“But you agree that your quality of life could be improved, yes?” 

Clenching his jaw, Will turned his gaze out of the window. People were passing by outside, oblivious to anything other than their own comings and goings. Finally, after a few moments, Will sighed. “I don’t want this to be a handout situation.”

“It is an arrangement,” Hannibal said. After a pause, he asked, “Tell me about your failed endeavor.” 

Will snorted. “He was a creep. I didn’t see any money.” 

Fierce anger gripped Hannibal so hard he nearly broke the handle off of his mug. He reined it in at the last second, letting out a controlled breath and nodding. He opened up his suit jacket, reaching into the inner breast pocket to pull out an unmarked white envelope. He put it on the table, then slid it across with two fingers. Will eyed it, then glanced up at Hannibal. 

“A reward for simply meeting me for coffee. I want you to know that I am not here to play games, Will. I have stated what I wanted. I can even write a contract.”

Will reached out, cautiously taking the envelope and opening it up. Inside was a check addressed to him, for twenty-five hundred dollars. Both of his brows raised in surprise, those pretty blue eyes meeting Hannibal’s. “Seriously?” 

Hannibal’s smile was sharp at the corners. “Deadly.” 

Licking his lips, Will carefully tucked the envelope into the breast pocket of his flannel. “Thanks. I--I already know you’re not a creep.” 

“Do you?” 

“You didn’t ask for a dick pic.” 

“Who says I won’t?”

Will’s eyes flashed with good humor. Hannibal was addicted to it. A few moments passed, their eyes connected, a quiet crackle in the air between them. “I don’t need a contract. Just your word.” 

Hannibal inclined his head, keeping his gaze on Will’s. “You have it.” 

\--

They arrange for Will to visit Hannibal’s home the following Saturday. Since Will’s schedule fixing boat motors was “flexible”, as Will had politely described, Hannibal had determined that the easiest way for them to get together would be to do so on the weekends. Of course, Hannibal could alter his evening schedule during the weekdays, but since he and Will were still in the “get to know you” stage, he wasn’t quite ready to give up the peace and quiet of his after-hours. 

The plan was simple: a lunch time repast and conversation. The small peek he’d gotten into Will’s fascinating mind during their coffee date had been on the tip of Hannibal’s tongue, tasted over and over again, since. He needed a fresh taste. He needed the entire meal. Moreover, it was clear that Will craved the stimulation as well.

How fortunate, he thought, that Will had been the person he replied to. And on the other hand, how fortunate for Hannibal to be the one Will messaged.

… Perhaps “fortunate” was not quite the _fortuitous_ word Hannibal meant, but as of now, he was going to feed Will his rolodex, not add him to it. 

When Hannibal opened the door to see Will on his stoop, he felt his skin tighten all over. Will was wearing dark jeans without a stain on them, a black polo that looked freshly bought and washed, and his hair seemed to be partially tamed. 

Hannibal thought the denim and flannel suited him, but this was just as well. In fact, it was _Will_ Hannibal enjoyed, not necessarily what he was wearing, even if it came off of a department store rack. 

Though, the idea of Will in a fitted, tailored suit…

“Welcome,” Hannibal greeted, stepping to the side and opening the door wider. 

“Hello, doctor,” Will greeted, a note of playfulness in his voice. His beautiful blues darted around Hannibal’s home immediately. Hannibal was reminded of a computer processor analyzing data at lightning speed. He wondered what Will saw.

“Did you find me well?” 

“Took a little over an hour,” Will shrugged. Hannibal wished desperately the boy was wearing a jacket so he had an excuse for contact as he put it away. “Slow drivers.” 

Hannibal’s eyes slid toward the old, beat up Volvo parked in front of his house. “I see.” 

Will smirked wryly. “She goes fast.”

“I never said otherwise,” Hannibal said primly. He shut the front door, then gestured. “Allow me to give you a tour.” 

Will eyed Hannibal’s hand, which was still floating. “You’re the type to lead.” 

Hannibal smiled with shark teeth. “I tend to be.” 

The boy reached out, gently grabbing Hannibal’s wrist and guiding his hand to where it really wanted to rest: on the small of Will’s back. Fire licked at the tips of Hannibal’s fingers. “You may touch me.” 

“Is that express permission?” 

“Blanket permission.” 

The heat from Will’s body nearly burned Hannibal’s hand through the soft material of his cheap shirt. “Thank you. This way.” 

Hannibal leisurely but efficiently showed Will through the first floor of his house, the pressure of his hand on the small of his back light, but purposeful. The foyer, the first sitting room, the restroom. The study, which Will eyed curiously upon seeing books stacked on books all the way to the vaulted ceiling. The dining room, where Will gently ran his fingers over the edge of the beautiful table, eyes taking in the craftsmanship and the herb planters on the wall. And finally, the kitchen, where Will paused to look at everything inch by inch. 

Hannibal had mentioned how much he enjoyed cooking. Will was clearly taking that to heart, absorbing the space where Hannibal spent so much time, his presence nearly cloying in the air. Will inhaled deeply, Hannibal’s pride filtering through his nostrils, and when he exhaled a bit of himself misted out, starting to mix with Hannibal’s scent in the air. 

Then, the small, crooked smirk he sent to Hannibal was both amused and slightly tremulous. “You’re only showing me the first floor today, doctor?” 

Understanding the meaning, that anger that blasted through Hannibal during their coffee date at the mention of Will’s failed endeavor gripped him once again. Clearing his throat, Hannibal clasped his hands in front of him to send the boy a mild smile. “I will wait patiently for you to tell me when you would like to see the second floor.” 

Will’s smile turned more genuine. Nodding, he then turned toward the kitchen. “What’s for lunch?” 

“Something simple.” Grateful for the subject change, Hannibal moved toward the kitchen island where he had a few things laid out. The anger dissipated, with the aid of Will’s presence as well as the general sensation of being where he found calm every single day. His kitchen was meditative. He was ever grateful for it.

“And here I was expecting a menu full of things I can’t pronounce,” Will hummed. 

“I won’t overwhelm you,” Hannibal said truthfully. He caught Will’s gaze from across the island. “This is new for both of us, and we will need time to adjust to one another. My lifestyle _can_ be a bit much for those unaccustomed.” 

“You mean the way you live might traumatize anyone in a lower tax bracket?” Will joked.

“Your words, not mine,” Hannibal said. He was filled with delight. His boy was bright, funny, and clearly quite ready to adapt. He reached toward the dishwasher handle, where his apron hung. Stringing the cloth around himself, he couldn’t help but smile at Will, who was nowhere near offended. “Do you have any dietary restrictions?” 

Will shook his head. “Haven’t really broadened my palate enough to know.” 

“Coming from the south, one could assume your palate can handle and even enjoys spicy flavors?” 

“Sure,” Will shrugged. 

Hannibal rested his hands on the island. Will mimicked his position. Holding eye contact, Hannibal said, “Do you like grilled cheese or fried egg sandwiches?” 

The boy blinked. “Really?” 

“Those are the layman’s terms for today’s lunch,” Hannibal said, withdrawing from the staring contest. He started busying his hands with pots and pans. 

Will grinned. “Fancy poor man food is probably the way to my heart.”

“Good.” He nodded toward the corner of the kitchen, by the pantry. “Bring over a stool.”

Obeying, Will went and grabbed a stool to bring it back to the island. He sat on it without a care in the world, eyes watching as Hannibal pulled a carton of eggs toward himself. “I hope you’re not lowering your standards for my tastebuds.”

“As a matter of fact, I am not,” Hannibal said. “ _Croque madame_ is somewhat of a comfort food of mine. Simple. Elegant. Quick to make and consume.” 

“The good doctor needs comfort food?” Will asked, arching his brows playfully. 

“Don’t we all?” 

Will made a hum of agreement, before settling again. He observed all of the ingredients, especially the clearly homemade bread that Hannibal started slicing. His gaze lingered particularly on where Hannibal’s fingers held the handle of the knife. “What all do you buy from the grocery store?” 

“In the off-season, produce. I patronize the farmer’s market, not the grocer.” Hannibal filled a small saucepan with water, setting it over the gas range. He then cracked an egg expertly with one hand, dropping it carefully into a bowl. “I have considered building a greenhouse, yet I never seem to have the time.” 

“What about your meat?” Will asked. His eyes landed on the ham hock sitting inconspicuously among the different types of cheese. 

“I employ an ethically sourced butcher.” Once Hannibal was sure the eggs wouldn’t break when he put them in the water, he turned around to send Will a small smile. “It’s much more sustainable to procure the entire animal and freeze it than to buy bits at a time.” 

Nodding slowly, Will shifted on his stool. “Do you like to cook fish?” 

“I do,” Hannibal said. He picked the butcher knife out of the custom-made wooden knife block. The blade glinted, a fracture of light passing over Will’s features. He thought about what Will did for a living, coupled with where his home was, then said, “Would you bring me some, sometime?” 

The wolfish smile Will gave sent actual shivers down Hannibal’s spine. “If I get to prepare it.” 

“One should always prepare their own kill when they can,” Hannibal agreed. 

Quiet fell over the kitchen as Hannibal worked. It wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it was comfort _ing_. Hannibal felt greatly at ease with Will. He could tell from body language alone that Will felt the same. Those eyes, though--those piercing blue eyes, dark and bright at the same time, calculating and kind and observant and flippant. Those eyes mapped his every move. Every knife he grabbed, every ingredient he touched. Will was either committing something to memory or solving a problem and to be frank, both of those options were terrifying and thrilling all at once. 

Today’s meal would not come from the rolodex. Hannibal had a hunch about his backwoods bayou boy, and he would wait out that curiosity for as long as he could stand. 

Lunch took about thirty minutes to prepare. Will sat quietly, patiently, watching Hannibal work without distraction; though, as a whole, Will Graham _was_ a distraction. He admired the boy, honestly--he knew for a fact anyone else sitting here in the kitchen with nothing to do and no conversation partner would either chat to fill the silence, or occupy themselves on their smartphone. 

Will was the perfect accessory in Hannibal’s kitchen, as familiar and beautiful as the cookware and spices. 

Plating two croque madames, Hannibal nodded to Will, who was blessedly still at attention. “If you would take those to the table.” 

Standing up, Will carefully picked up the plates. It was clear he wasn’t as graceful and elegant as Hannibal when it came to serving, but he was giving it his best shot. He sent Hannibal a small, thankful smile, before disappearing to the dining room. Hannibal picked a wine, grabbed two glasses and a corkscrew, then joined Will in the dining room. Even in his dressed down polo and wild hair, Will was a sight in the grand space, seated adjacent to the head of the table like a good boy. 

“ _Le croque monsieur_ ,” Hannibal started as he sat across from Will, rather than at the head of the table, “was created mostly by accident. A bistro owner already had the recipe, but he ran out of the baguettes that he normally served it on. In a rush to put the sandwich back on the menu, he went to the kitchen and baked a loaf of the quickest bread he could. _Pain de mie_ is soft on the inside, yet crusty around the edges, which in the end turned out to be much better for the _croque monsieur_.” He gestured to their plates. “To put an egg on it merely adds more protein. This is called a _croque madame_.” 

Will smiled wryly. “Will I have a history lesson with every meal?”

“I believe it is important to know the history of what you are about to consume,” Hannibal said easily. He unrolled his napkin, putting it in his lap. He picked up his fork and knife, sending Will a sated, mild smile. “It brightens the flavor and expands the mind.” 

“Ah, I’ve entered etiquette school,” Will snorted. Hannibal’s jaw ticked. Very carefully, Will lifted his own fork to poke at the poached egg, watching the yolk ooze slowly over the sandwich. His smile was small, but genuine. “This looks delicious.” 

“Enjoy,” Hannibal said. He could appreciate Will’s sarcasm, but he wondered if it was something he could… break, in the boy. Not to get rid of it entirely, but to see what he would look like, totally compliant and obedient under his hands. 

It was best not to let his imagination run away with him at the table.

“So,” Will started. There was a small smirk on his lips as he brought his food to his lips, chewing with appreciation before continuing. “You’ve never had a… sugar baby before.”

“I have not,” Hannibal replied easily. He stood from his chair, elevating himself from the table as he started to screw into the cork of the wine. 

“Any reason why?” 

“Intimate company is trifling,” he said. He expertly worked the cork free from the bottle, bringing it to his nose for a slow, deliberate sniff. He then set the corkscrew and the cork down on the table, reaching to pour a fair amount into both their glasses. When he was seated again, he sent Will a small, secretive smile. “Most people don’t know what it is they want, and therefore cannot ask for it.” 

“You wanted to weed out the idiots,” Will surmised.

“More or less,” Hannibal said. He brought his glass to his lips, inhaling deeply before taking a slow sip. “I’d like to think my company is worth more than empty platitudes, or even the attention seekers wishing to be on my arm at events.”

“People using you to try and elevate their status.” 

“I must say I find vanity quite unattractive.” 

A spark lit in Will’s eyes. “A punishable offense?” 

“Not even worthy of a punishment, as that would be a waste of my time and breath.” Hannibal set his glass down, picking up his fork and knife and sending his boy a placid smile. “Punishments are reserved for those who would _learn_ from their mistake.” 

A fine tremor shook Will’s shoulders, barely masked by him cutting another piece of food to eat. “So you just eliminate the problem by forgoing the equation altogether.” 

“A necessary sacrifice.”

“So you are alone.”

“I am without enjoyable company,” Hannibal corrected.

“Most say I’m the exact opposite of “enjoyable company”,” Will said, a smirk tugging his beautiful lips. 

“You are exquisite in your uniqueness,” Hannibal replied. 

“Exquisite,” Will replied, tasting the word on his tongue as the tips of his ears flushed. 

“So, to answer your question: I have never had a sugar baby--never felt the urge or need.”

“But something changed.” 

“I find myself lonely, occasionally. Hungry.” His eyes were heavy as they rested on Will. “I consider myself quite lucky that we found one another, dear Will. You seem to be just the company I have been looking for.”

“A little too soon to tell, is it?” Will asked wryly. 

“No,” Hannibal said simply. 

They fell into a companionable silence as they ate. It was not oppressive, nor was it empty; it was the type of quiet that Hannibal craved with another human, the type of quiet free of restraint and purpose. Quiet just for quiet’s sake. That Will had gleaned what Hannibal needed from two meetings and shallow conversation was impressive. Though, from the few times they’ve made full eye contact, Hannibal knew there was something… special, about Will.

After clearing their plates and replacing them with humble slices of apple pie and a dollop of homemade ice cream, the quiet persisted, only punctuated once by Will’s compliments to the chef. Hannibal took the time to observe the boy. For all he demurred from eye contact and physical touch, there was a power held within. Confidence, only tremulous for the fine thread of incredulity that wove through him from time to time, likely a result of still trying to understand why Hannibal was so interested in him and willing to open an agreement with him. Though he wouldn’t meet his gaze often, he didn’t shy away from it. He gave the illusion of having nothing to hide… but there was something, wasn’t there? 

Hannibal could only recognize the tells because much of them were the same he put off. 

Again, the plates were cleared. Hannibal guided Will to the foyer with a hand on the small of his back, feeling the heat radiating off of the boy. He ran hot. Hannibal leaned in ever, _ever_ so slightly, nostrils flaring as he took a subtle inhale--

“Did you just _smell_ me?” 

\--or, he thought he’d been subtle. Will’s senses were commendable. He was the first to notice Hannibal’s own senses on high alert. 

“Difficult to avoid,” Hannibal said pleasantly, as if sniffing another human was commonplace. 

Will’s gaze skirted over his shoulder before he turned around, resting those beautiful blues somewhere near Hannibal’s cheekbone. “And what did you find?” 

Hannibal reached inside his suit jacket to the inner pocket, pulling out a blank envelope containing a check written for another twenty-five hundred dollars. “Ambrosia.” 

“Temptation?” Will asked, arching a brow. He didn’t reach for the envelope.

“Of the sweetest kind.” 

“Tantalus was persecuted for cannibalism,” the boy said smoothly. Hannibal’s person suit quivered, but his face did not change. Will took the envelope. “Among other things.” Something flashed in his eyes. 

Dangerous.

Beautiful.

“I commend your knowledge of Greek mythology,” Hannibal heard himself say. “It is one of my favorite subjects.” 

Finally, Will’s eyes met Hannibal’s straight on. They were hot ice, glaciers drenched in sunbeams. “When can I see you again?” 

Relaxing only a fraction, Hannibal now leaned in for another sniff, this time not bothering to disguise it. “The opera, on Friday evening.” 

“I’m afraid my wardrobe is limited to three-star restaurants,” Will murmured, leaning toward Hannibal in turn. 

“Then join me Thursday afternoon for a fitting.” 

Will’s chapped lower lip was brought between his teeth in genuine contemplation. His person suit was good, but Hannibal’s was better. But if Hannibal’s was made of fire and brimstone, then Will’s was made of the rain and hail storm that could douse it.

“Alright,” the boy finally murmured. 

How desperately Hannibal wanted to kiss him. Anywhere. Forehead. Cheek. Nose. His curly locks. He refrained, even though Will had given him blanket permission for touching. A kiss felt sacred, though Hannibal normally didn’t view them as such. Withdrawing, Hannibal allowed a genuine warmth to flicker in his eyes as he regarded his boy. 

“Three p.m., Will. Don’t be late.” 

That boyish grin dimpled scruffy cheeks, Will not replying verbally but communicating his agreement with a nod. He bounced down the steps, his back to Hannibal casual to any onlookers but monumental for Hannibal. 

Shutting the door, Hannibal allowed his person suit to burst at the seams, a predatory grin tugging his lips apart to flash his sharp teeth. 

How lovely, that he had taken a chance and got more than he bargained for. 

\--

It wasn’t often that Hannibal was stunned into silence. He could quietly appreciate art, he could quietly contemplate beauty, but never before had he opened his mouth and words died on his tongue. The fitting yesterday had only been a tease for what Will would look like tonight, Hannibal purposely feigning indifference so as to not make Will uncomfortable with what was surely his first time in a formal tailor. And yet Hannibal was paying for his ignorance, as he opened his front door and was met with what could only have been the most beautiful piece of work in God’s creation. 

The suit was deep blue, jewel-toned in such a shade that it looked black in regular lighting. The waistcoat was the shame shade, though the buttons were creamy ivory, the pattern of the ensemble paisley to match Hannibal’s own deep maroon-colored suit. The pocket square was cream to match the buttons, and the fit was…

Exhaling, Hannibal gathered himself, fully aware that his mask had slipped more than what was comfortable. Will knew, of course. His scruff was cleaned up, still shadowing the contours of his face but in a much more aesthetically pleasing manner--though, Hannibal had to admit, he quite liked the scruff. Will’s wild curls were tamed only slightly, artfully pushed back from his forehead with a hair product that left his hair soft-looking and bouncy. Hannibal knew that if he touched the curls, there would be no crunch. 

What a pair they would make. 

“You are… exquisite,” Hannibal finally said aloud. 

Will’s own mask slipped slightly, a truly bashful blush and smile gracing his features as he ducked his head. “I had to Google how to fold a pocket square.” 

“You should have also used its services for your tie,” Hannibal said, though the words came out with utter adoration. Will looked up as Hannibal stepped forward, his adam’s apple bobbing as Hannibal’s deft fingers swiftly undid the knot at his throat.

“I’ve never tied a tie in my life,” the boy said honestly. 

“As dashing as you are, my dear Will,” Hannibal said, barely paying attention as he swiftly pulled the windsor knot together, “Only the opera will require a suit. Anything else we do, you may dress as you please.” 

“I saw the way you looked at me,” Will’s voice was a coy murmur, though barbed at the edges. “Retract that statement now if you don’t want me in a t-shirt and jeans for the rest of our time together.” 

“Sweet William,” Hannibal said softly, wondering if Will would catch the insinuation in the nickname, “I would have you as your most authentic self at any time.” 

Will’s chin tilted up as Hannibal finished the knot, meeting his eyes. Fire and ice clashed, the corner of Will’s lips quirking up to reveal his fangs, challenging, but not a threat. “Are you sure about that?” 

Hannibal pretended to be unruffled at Will’s posturing. He needlessly smoothed his palms from Will’s neck to his shoulders, brushing away imaginary lint from his perfect suit. “Most definitely.” He took a step back, then offered his arm, bent at the elbow. His head tilted genially, the smile on his lips truly fond. “Shall we?” 

Calculating, Will’s gaze flitted over Hannibal’s suit, a perfect mirror of his own in different shades, to his hair, perfectly gelled and combed, and then finally to his arm, where the muscles pulled the fabric of his jacket finely. Reaching up, Will looped his arm through Hannibal’s, the back-and-forth between prey and predator clashing beautifully and temptingly. 

“We shall.”

\--

The pre-game, as Will called it, before the performance was the highlight of the opera for Hannibal. Unhindered people watching, delightfully mundane conversation, expensive champagne and hors d’oeuvres. With Will on his arm more acquaintances than ever were approaching to engage him in small talk, doing their best but failing miserably to try and inquire as to Hannibal’s date. 

Of course, some people had tact, while others were a bull in a China shop.

“Dr. Lecter!” 

Turning a genial smile to Mildred Von Heof and her husband, Hannibal’s arm around Will’s waist drew him closer. Will hid his own smile behind the rim of his champagne glass, taking a generous sip. Hannibal couldn’t blame him. 

“Mrs. Von Heof,” Hannibal greeted. “Lovely to see you again.” He reached out to her proffered hand, kissing the back of it, thankful for the silk glove preventing his lips connecting with her skin. He then held out a hand to take Mr. Von Heof’s for a warm shake. “It has been a while.” 

“We’ve missed you the past few performances,” Mr. Von Heof said, his tone wavering slightly as he darted his glance toward where Hannibal has his arm possessively around his boy. 

“I’m afraid I’ve been otherwise occupied on the weekends.” 

“Who is this?” Mildred took the segue beautifully, smiling warmly toward Will. 

“My date,” Hannibal said so there was no mistake, “Will Graham.” 

Dutifully, Will held his hand out for a gentle shake with Mildred. “Pleasure.” He sweetened his Southern accent, which caused her to swoon accordingly. He then held his hand out to Mr. Von Heof, a challenge and a test. “Monsieur Von Heof.” 

That seemed to change something in Mr. Von Heof. His expression lightened, the wariness replaced by curiosity and warmth. He shook Will’s hand properly. “A Southern man!”

Mildred leaned in conspiratorially to stage whisper, “Thomas has always been drawn to the Gulf.”

Hannibal blinked a few times in surprise, his smile stuck on his face. Will had so effortlessly adapted into a role to make sure he was not only accepted by the people on the very edges of Hannibal’s social circle, but he adopted a persona that would both disarm them from their obvious scrutiny of Hannibal’s sexual preference and embolden them to affection. 

“Louisiana, sir,” Will confirmed. 

“Where have you been keeping this one?” Mr. Von Heof turned twinkling eyes to Hannibal.

No one’s eyes _twinkled_ when they looked at Hannibal. They respected him, engaged him in conversation, saw him as an equal not only because of their tax bracket but because of mutual enjoyment of the finer side of societal circles but… this was entirely new.

Will’s person suit was strengthening Hannibal’s own. 

The delay was noticeable to no one but himself as he replied, “I’ve been entirely selfish in keeping him all to myself.”

“I don’t blame you,” Mildred tittered, sending Will an approving wink. 

Chuckling charmingly, Will pressed closer into Hannibal’s side, turning his head coquettishly toward the older man. “I don’t either.” 

Thrilling. 

“It was delightful to meet you,” Mr. Von Heof said honestly, though with reproach. “We must be finding our seats. I’ve been on my feet all day and would like to settle in before the show.” 

Mildred nodded her agreement. Hannibal inclined his head, Will did the same while batting his lashes, and then they were alone in a sea of people. Will deposited his empty glass on a passing tray. Reaching down to grip Will’s wrist and pull it away from his lower back, Hannibal pinned their hands between their thighs as he trapped Will against him by that point alone, leaning in to murmur in his ear. 

“Clever boy.” 

“It would seem I serve more than one purpose,” Will’s volume matched Hannibal’s, intimate and dark. 

Unable to help it, Hannibal lightly nipped at the lobe of the boy’s ear, relishing the stifled gasp it elicited. “Behave for the rest of the opera and you will be rewarded.” 

“Mmm,” the boy hummed against Hannibal’s ear, sending vibrations through his body. “Be careful, doctor. Not everyone in your social circle seems to approve of us.” 

Pulling away, Hannibal discreetly followed Will’s gaze toward Richard Hoff, who was alone per usual, a glass of champagne in hand and his nose as high in the air as it could get without lifting his feet off of the floor. He was looking down said nose toward Hannibal and Will, not bothering to hide the disgust on his features. Humming in contemplation, Hannibal loosened his iron grip on Will’s tapered wrist, his free hand reaching up to cup under Will’s jaw, his fingers reaching back into soft curls as he brought their gazes level. 

“What ever shall we do about his rudeness?” 

"Cut out his tongue and make him choke on his ignorance," Will said, ice hot eyes fixed on Hannibal's, not an ounce of hesitation or remorse in his words. “Could that count as a reward?” He added with sweetly faked innocence.

Oh. 

_Oh._

That special something, that drinkable _je ne sais quoi_ about the boy reared up like a stallion--no, a wild stag amongst the thorns and vines--and nearly knocked the breath from Hannibal's lungs.

Will’s eyelashes fluttered attractively, the smile on his lips just shy of feral in the space of Hannibal's lack of response. " _Do_ you have a basement?"

Gathering himself, Hannibal pulled Will closer, their voices intimate. "Do you wish to dine on the sins of man? To gorge on his greed and gluttony?" There was no mistaking the subject at hand, no misinterpretation for his gorgeous boy to back out on.

"Will you serve red wine, or white?"

The recall of a question asked in thinly veiled amusement solidified into something beautiful. Hannibal lifted his chin to press a kiss against Will’s forehead, unable to wipe the smile from his lips. 

“With tongue I would select a delicate chianti.” 

\--

Elbow deep in Richard Hoff’s chest cavity, Hannibal looked over at the metal table that held his tools with a wistful gaze. Wordlessly, spackled in blood from chin to knee, arms slick with the congealing liquid, Will picked up the bone saw and handed it over to Hannibal, ice blue flashing white hot in the ambient lighting of Hannibal’s basement. 

Feeling his own eyes twinkle for the first time in all his years, Hannibal extracted a hand to grab the bone saw, a foreign warmth spreading through his veins. The warmth was woven with thorns, hot and prickly as it spread through his veins. He set the bone saw down inside Richard’s chest, nestled it between his lungs, and then straightened. Arousal coursed through him as he regarded his companion, who was regarding him with an equally appraising gaze.

“Come here, sweet boy.”

Dutifully, Will rounded the steel gurney. When he was close enough Hannibal reached up, a slick hand slipping over the boy’s scruffy jaw to bring him closer, fingers gripping his chin to turn his head toward Richard. Hannibal’s mouth was at his ear, breathing warmly into it. 

“What do you feel?” 

“Envy.” 

Hannibal contemplated the meaning of that. “Of me?”

“Of Richard.” 

Lashes fluttering slightly in thought, Hannibal nipped at Will’s earlobe, getting the first taste of his salty-sweet skin. “And why is that?” 

Will reached for the bone saw, picking it up to press the bloody sticky tool against his own chest, his breath audibly catching, his head tipping back slightly. “I wonder what it would feel like for you to cut _me_ open and crawl inside.” 

“ _Oh_ ,” Hannibal gripped the saw as well, taking half its weight. It became sandwiched between their chests, Hannibal’s other hand moving down Will’s back to grip at his ass and draw him closer. He nearly felt dizzy with arousal, a sensation he’d never felt before, not even with trysts he’d been mildly attracted to. 

Dear Will was truly a gift from God. 

“One day,” Hannibal murmured, lips dragging down the slope of Will’s neck, promise lacing his words, “I will be inside of you the way you so desperately desire.” 

Panting, Will withdrew the saw, fumbling with its slick handle to put it back inside Richard’s chest. “And until then?” 

Hannibal’s smile was wicked. “We will settle for the most basic of carnal desires.”

When his teeth sank into Will’s neck the boy cried out sharply, a howl to the moon as his fingers flew up to dig into Hannibal’s biceps to save him from his weak knees. Feeling his teeth pierce the skin and the copper flow over his tongue, an ambrosia taste unique to Will, overpowering any smattering of Richard’s blood, Hannibal immediately felt drunk on it, wild with it. He sucked once, hard, drawing more blood to the surface as well as ensuring that this mark would last on Will’s skin--ensuring that he would probably have to stitch him up later. 

Will’s fingers tangled in Hannibal’s hair, smearing crimson on blond, yanking him up and in for a kiss. Hannibal backed the slightly smaller man into the gurney, the brakes preventing the steel cart from moving. Richard’s body jiggled. Hannibal tangled his fingers in the back of Will’s head, touching the soft curls reverently for a split second before yanking Will’s head back, looming over him to thrust his tongue into his mouth and kiss him hungrily. 

Waiting for their first kiss had been well worth it. 

Wet sounds filled the room: their bloody hands slipping over the fabric of their expensive suits, their tongues and teeth meeting and parting, Will’s right hand occasionally reaching back to steady himself on the gurney but instead accidentally squelching into Richard’s body, finding purchase on his liver, his spleen. Covered in blood and gore he and Hannibal pressed and pulled and yanked until finally their belts clicked open, Hannibal pushing Will’s pants and underwear to his thighs and then flipping him around with a strength he usually reserved for his kills.

This bent Will over Richard’s body. Will groaned with a neediness never before heard. Hannibal draped himself over Will’s back, biting at his ears through his curls, his neck where skin met the collar of his suit jacket. 

“Do you know how beautiful you are, Will?” Hannibal breathed hotly against Will’s neck. Richard’s face disappeared from the equation. It was just Hannibal, Will, and their kill. “Do you know how exquisite you look with your hands around a neck?”

Will could only groan in reply, shifting his weight to press his ass against the front of Hannibal’s pants. “Tell me,” he finally choked out.

“I have seen the greatest art in the world,” the doctor continued. Keeping one hand tangled in Will’s curls, the other bloody palm drew back to slap Will’s ass cheek, leaving a crimson handprint on the flesh. Will keened appropriately in reply. “I have been to the most beautiful museums, laid my eyes on the rarest and finest canvases and sculptures.” Shifting his torso away to make room, he crossed his arm over his chest so he could lay an identical slap to the other cheek. Will’s ass was beautiful covered with his bloody marks. “ _Nothing_ compares to you, dear Will.” 

“Fuck,” Will panted. “Please.” 

Leaning over again, Hannibal licked a slow, long stripe up Will’s neck. “Please, what?” 

“ _Eat me_ ,” Will growled.

Smirking, Hannibal withdrew only to drop to his knees. Blood from Richard’s body oozed slowly around him on its journey to the drain in the middle of the room. His crimson hands spread Will’s stung cheeks, the scent punching Hannibal squarely; aroused, needy, _deadly_. Hannibal’s tongue took its first taste leisurely, a fat lick across Will’s hole, the muscle quivering in reply. Will laid more properly over the table, doing his best to spread his legs but hindered by his pants at his knees. Hannibal guided his hips back roughly, his palms huge on Will’s tiny waist. Laid bare, Hannibal took his fill.

The noises Will let out were the perfect accompaniment to the flavors exploding over Hannibal’s palate. Sweeter than wine, richer than dessert, Will tasted like the exact dish Hannibal had spent his entire life searching for. His tongue swept and probed, he sucked and swallowed, greedy as he gorged himself on his beautiful boy. He slipped his thumb in next to his tongue, the appendage slipping inside with little resistance. He let out a soft noise of wonder in reply, the vibration traveling up Will’s spine and drawing a little moan out of his parted lips. 

Reaching behind himself, Will tangled his fingers in Hannibal’s hair, trying to force the man deeper into him. Hannibal obliged as best as he could, his tongue slipping in as deep as he could stretch it. His thumb alongside, he twisted his wrist and pressed just right, delighting in the wrecked cry that left Will’s throat. His doctor’s precision was an asset in every aspect of his life, and he abused it whenever he could. After what wasn’t nearly long enough, Will pushed at his head. 

“Fuck me, _fuck me_ ,” the boy growled, throwing a glacial glare over his shoulder. 

Standing up, the burn in his thighs spreading to his groin, Hannibal pressed forward, slotting his hard cock along the crevice of Will’s ass. The blood from his handprints smeared, the precome of his cock mixing with it to create a sloppy trail as he ground into Will, keeping his thumb deep inside the boy’s ass. Hooking his wrist down, he slipped his other thumb into Will’s hole, opening him up like a vise, his thumb the clamps as he nudged the head of his bare cock between them.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Will whispered, arching his back and trying to rock his body backward. 

The tease alone was ramping Hannibal’s system up to never before seen levels. His balls were already tightening, his control unraveling more and more. His Will was truly a gift of the greatest kind. Continuing to rock his hips, it took three or four more waves before the swollen head of his cock finally caught in Will’s rim, the boy’s ass tightening to try and swallow him in deeper. It pulled a rush of air from Hannibal’s lungs, his fingers pressing so hard into the meat of Will’s hips they were already leaving bruises. His thumbs kept Will’s hole spread until Will tightened his body purposely again, thumbs popping out with a slick noise as Hannibal’s cock sank in halfway.

Tipping his head back, Hannibal closed his eyes as he pressed a hand to the small of Will’s back. 

Absolutely delicious. 

This was the annihilation that Hannibal had been searching for. His cock sank in all the way, his pelvis pressed to the slick mess of Will’s ass. Exhaling slowly, Hannibal once again draped himself over Will’s back. One hand on the gurney, the other hand lifted to the delicate curve of Will’s throat, his large palm easily covering the entire expanse. Will whined, pressing back into him and allowing the weight of his head to rest in Hannibal’s palm, entirely giving himself over. His submission was beautiful. Intentional. Heavy. 

Hannibal drew back a fraction, then sank in again in a mockery of a thrust. 

The breath Will let out was a bar. 

Hannibal repeated the action. 

Will’s throat worked to let out a clef, silent in its command. 

Again.

“Ah,” was the first note.

Again. 

Again.

Again. 

The symphony of Will’s noises--begs, pants, moans, curses--was by far the most beautiful Hannibal had heard. His boy was so responsive inside and out, unabashed in his pleasure. He was pure carnal desire, the best and most raw parts of humanity. Hannibal’s cock throbbed, his balls ached in his attempts to keep his release at bay. He wanted to see his boy crumble, he wanted to see him break and shatter like a fragile teacup, wanted to put him back together, lined with gold and chipped in all the right places. 

Keeping his hand on Will’s throat, squeezing his fingers alternately to cut off his oxygen and let him breathe in random intervals, Hannibal’s other hand picked up a scalpel from the gurney to cut cleanly through the front of Will’s suit. The force of their fucking caused the scalpel to nick Will in a few places, tortured cries of pleasure getting choked off by Hannibal’s palm. Hannibal dropped the knife in favor of dragging his fingers over the shallow cuts to gather the blood and smear it around. His fingers found Will’s nipples, pulling and pinching and tugging. Caught between Hannibal’s cock and his hands, Will thrashed. Stronger and broader than his boy, Hannibal kept him in place, torturing him between pleasure and pain.

His utter destruction put the Big Bang to shame. 

Will’s orgasm overtook him so suddenly and so violently his entire body convulsed. For a moment suspended in time Will lost consciousness from the force of it and the tightening of Hannibal’s hand over his airway--and when he was resurrected he came back to life with an animalistic howl, his chin dipping to dislodge Hannibal’s hand so he could sink his teeth into the webbing between Hannibal’s thumb and first finger.

The tightening of Will’s body and the sudden shock of pain to his nervous system had Hannibal orgasming without warning. He pumped his cum deep into Will, leaving his hand between sharp teeth, rocking his hips to milk his orgasm completely dry. He pulled out his softening cock, glancing down to see the white straining red as it dripped down Will’s thighs. Breathing heavily, he became aware of Will licking at his wound, both of their bodies trembling with exertion and the quickly weakening Will to stay upright. 

Pressing his forehead to Will’s back between his shoulder blades, Hannibal did his best to gather his wits and strength. Very carefully he extracted his hands and arms from Will only to wrap them around him in a different embrace, pulling him away from the gurney, the boy’s footsteps stumbling slightly. 

“Come, my sweet boy,” Hannibal murmured against dark curls stained with blood. He dragged a crimson finger over where he could feel Will’s lips were, painting them red. “Let us get cleaned up.”

\--

Hours later, as night turned to dawn, Hannibal's senses alerted him to movement in the bed. He went from asleep to fully awake in half a second--though he kept his breathing regulated and eyes closed, not wanting to inform Will that his shuffling had awoken him. After a moment the boy settled, curling closer to Hannibal, sticky with sweat and fragrant with content.

Winding his arm carefully around his boy, Hannibal turned his head to kiss soft, clean curls. The scent of his soap lingered, but Will's natural scent overpowered everything.

"Sorry," Will grumbled, voice rough with sleep.

Hannibal just pulled him closer. Quiet settled.

Then: "Do you think this is sustainable?"

Unable to stop the smile filtering over his lips, Hannibal lifted a hand to card his fingers through Will's sweaty locks. "Of course not. You burn brighter than a dying star, my sweet boy."

Will turned his nose into Hannibal's armpit, burying his face there. "Will it destroy you? Like Italy did?"

"The finest things in this universe are built to implode and leave no survivors."

"Will _I_ destroy you?"

"It is my greatest hope," Hannibal said softly, slipping a hand down Will's back to hold him securely, "that when we explode into stardust and ashes, we rise like the phoenix, reborn to search for greatness all over again. That we will have each other in this life, and the next."

"How many lives have you had, Dr. Lecter?" Will asked, his voice sleepily cheeky.

Moving his other hand, Hannibal gently traces a finger down Will's cheek. "None worth living, until now."

"And when we rise from the ashes?"

Hannibal felt Will's fangs nipping at the side of his pectoral. "We shall be greater than ever."

Seemingly expecting this, Well settled once more. He murmured into Hannibal's skin, "Should I expect my wages to change?"

"I would give you my life in exchange for your company."

A quiet moment lingered. He could feel Will's plush lips spread in a smile against his skin. "I'm yours to buy."

"Mine to keep," Hannibal replied, voice dark with possession through the smile on his lips.

\--

_Age: 50  
Height: 6'0  
Weight: 82kg  
Occupation: Professional/Doctor  
Looking for: Men  
Ages: 25-35_

_I find I have both too much and too little time to enjoy the finer things in life. As a medical professional I take my work very seriously and, as a result, require time to "unwind". I am looking for someone in need of financial assistance who enjoys both private and public company. My extra curricular activities will stay as private as yours. I enjoy philosophy, fine arts, and hunting. If you desire, your hands could be as dirty as mine. Please come with an appetite. I would love to have a friend for dinner._

_-H_

Will leaned back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his scruff and adjusting his glasses. What an interesting profile. Little to go on, and plenty left to the imagination. Will's last endeavor hadn't turned out as well as he'd hoped; the man was handsy, rude, and it had ended all too soon.

This time he was being more choosy, and more subtle. Clicking up the message box, he licked his lips to stifle the smirk spreading over them. 

As he typed, he wondered: was this what he was looking for? Or would it be another disappointment? 

Either way, he thought as he glanced to the window, the outline of the barn on his property stark against the grey sky; either way, he was bound to have some fun.

**Author's Note:**

> hannibal answered will's message because there were no typos in it


End file.
